


Kettering.

by orphan_account



Series: Antlers. [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Death, Other, Philip is a cat, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel of Sylvia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fur / raintree

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.

Okay, so he was doing this. Writing a letter to his boyfriend, addressing him calmly. He tried to make it funny, the suicide note, even though he knew it would end up hurting John more in the end. His hands were really shaky now. He made himself squint so he could focus.

 

_ I love you, John. - petit lion. _

 

Okay. This was fine. He let himself cry a little more, feeling his eyes sting a little. That was fine. Everything was fine. Nobody was home, so it’d be okay. He tried to imagine John’s face when he got into their room, or anyone else. Who would be the first to find him?

It didn’t matter anyway. Alexander finally got up, using his oversized hoodie to wipe his face off. He walked to the bathroom and dug around until he found his migraine pills. No more than two, it said. Time to take six. And he did. Okay, so he was doing this.

He took a sleeping pill too, so that if he suffocated, he wouldn’t wake up. Not that he would after he suffocated, though. And so, he started to fade out. Happy memories, Alexander. None of your brother, James Jr., just memories of Laurens and Philip… three… two… one…


	2. heart's in the highlands

Laurens unlocked the door, finding that Lafayette was already home, curled up on the floor, sobbing messily.

“Laf?” John rushed over to them, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around their shoulder. “What the hell happened? I’ve never seen you-”

“John, I do n- je ne veux pas vous dire… Alexander…” There went John’s stomach. It dropped right out of his body. He slowly walked toward the doorway to his room. He could hear Philip mewling quietly. It smelled weird. Then he saw Alexander, the supposed love of his life. Laying down. Philip was kneading his paws against Alex’s belly, trying to get him up. It was clear, however, that he was out cold… and it seemed that he would not be waking up.

Philip turned his head toward his owner and jumped off of the bed, rubbing up against John. His mews turned desperate and loud, but Laurens had tuned everything out. He could only focus on the way Alex’s body lay, cold, pale and unmoving. Wasn’t death supposed to be poetic? The only words he could think were  _ shit _ and  _ no _ .

He only came out of this trance when he was shoved aside by people who he assumed were medical professionals. He couldn’t bring himself to care as Lafayette dragged him to their room, setting him down on their bed and sitting in front of him.

“John, cher, look at me, please,” their voice was cracking. Lafayette was desperate. Laurens raised his head and gave a tired, blank stare. Finally, he could feel the blood rushing to his brain. Shock was gone. Time for emotion.

He collapsed into Lafayette’s chest, feeling their arms wrapped around his back. They started rocking him gently, but he couldn’t feel comforted. Alex was gone. Not coming back. Not in a few days, not in a month or so… he wouldn’t be back. Ever. Laurens gripped Lafayette’s shirt tightly. Outside, in the living room, he could barely hear Hercules’ voice. He seemed to be speaking to the paramedics. And just like that, the house was silent, except for John’s quiet sniffs.

“John… Laurens.” Lafayette pulled John back into reality, placing their hand on his. “It will be okay. Do you want to-”

“Laf, shut up! I don’t… I haven’t experienced a death in a long time… and I was…” Laurens trailed off, looking at his lap. “Remember when I said I was going ring shopping? Well, New Years was the day.” He covered his face with his hands. “It’s only May,”

The room hung heavy with silence. John couldn’t bring himself to cry anymore, let alone talk about his future with Alex. He could only sit there and stare down at his lap, trying to process what the  _ hell _ had just happened. Hercules appeared from around the corner.

“John,” he muttered, sitting down on the floor against the wall. “The paramedics said you should start seeing a therapist… like, a death counselor or something like that. You have insurance, right?” All John could do was nod. “I’m gonna schedule an appointment for tomorrow. None of us are going to work.” Hercules exited the room, pulling out his phone.


	3. white woman

_Dear Laurens,_

 

_I hope this letter finds you well! That’s a lie actually. I know it won’t. You probably already know this, but things are hard. It’s really sad that this happened and all that stuff, but we all probably knew it was coming._

 

Some of the words were smeared by the water damage.

 

_You aren’t at fault, John. Lafayette wasn’t, Herc wasn’t, not even Burr or Jefferson. It was nobody’s fault but mine. It’s not about your actions. As usual, it’s all about me._

 

Oh. That was the smirk in his voice. John could hear it.

 

_I’m Alexander Hamilton, right? It turns out you get tired of being non-stop after a while. No matter how fast I run, I can’t ever get away from the horrible things I saw and experienced in Nevis and St. Croix. If they don’t catch me, then I’ll do it first._

 

Oh…

 

_Johnny, Laur, little Turtle, you’re not at fault, and nobody is. I can’t bring myself to write much more than this. For once, I am at a loss of words. I’m sure I’ll see you soon._

  


Oh. Alexander had never said much about his early life. He hated talking about it and tried to keep as much of it as a secret as possible. All that John could discern was that St. Croix hadn’t been the best for him and that he never really spent much time in Nevis.

Alexander tried to distance himself from his past as much as possible, but every time someone brought it up, he would freeze and start spacing out. His body would start getting cold.

John shouldn’t have left him alone for more than an hour. Thirty minutes would have been sufficient. He should’ve known that giving Alex more time to think alone would be a bad idea. Suddenly, Laurens’ hands were on his head. Why?

Hamilton had never talked to anyone about it. He had never let it out. It was all bouncing around in his head collectively, building up slowly and calcifying. That was why. Was that all that was bothering him, really?

 

Laurens brought it upon himself to dig through all of the papers that Alex had written in the days leading up. Tales of how he had grown up in New York City, tales of how many wars he had fought with himself, tales of his _trauma_ that John had never known about.

With that, the other man slid down the wall next to Hamilton’s desk, his hand clamped over his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut. It had only been a few hours since Alexander’s body had been taken away. It was all so hazy to him still. Why? Why did he do this?

He had talked about self harming before, but never of suicide. He’d said that he got over that idea when he was a teenager. John read more. Notes about the hurricane he’d been through. Notes about the disease his mother had died from. Notes that were torturing Hamilton.

Bottled up, ready to explode. That was how Alexander always seemed, and that’s probably how he felt too. He wouldn’t let himself let go of his past. He wouldn’t move on. Instead, he would use it to compel himself to go forward, even if it dragged him down in the end. This time, he’d gotten dragged so far down that it just seemed easier to sink lower.

* * *

 

Write a letter, the therapist suggested. Just one. Write out your feelings, write out thoughts, write about yourself, write about what happened. John couldn’t write just one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.


End file.
